


Possession

by vassalady



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Villain Steve Rogers, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 15:04:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3574127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vassalady/pseuds/vassalady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winter Soldier is a tool of the man called Steve Rogers, but Steve Rogers also belongs to the soldier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possession

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greenteeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenteeth/gifts).



> This is for greenteeth, who wanted "villain au with pre-serum Steve/WS" aaand it's something that I hadn't tried before, so I wanted to give it a shot! I hope you enjoy it! I tried it with Steve as the villain - what would he do with the winter soldier at his disposal and also as his best friend?
> 
> Due to Bucky's brainwashing, consent is, of course, zilch, so mind that before reading, please.

He stands in the shadows. The woman can’t see him, doesn’t know he’s there. The small man seated in a chair too large for him knows, however.

“Sir, the Commandos radioed in.” She has a crisp accent. English. “They got the bank all cleared out.”

The man sighs. “Get them out of there, and within the week, I want that money filtered into our new distribution center.”

“Yes, sir.” Hesitation. The woman does not leave.

“Was there something else?”

“Erskine’s here.”

Another sigh. This time, the man is frustrated. Anxious, maybe. But it’s kept well hidden from the woman. “Send him up.”

A shambling, broken man enters, far older than the man in the chair. He is familiar in the vague way most of the men and women in this building are. The soldier doesn’t see them often, however. He’s always in this room, if he’s not on a mission for the man in the chair.

“Any progress?”

The old man shakes his head. The little hair he has left clings to the sides of the perfect target he has for a head. “The last subject went insane. I’m almost there, I’m sure of it, if you’d give me a little more time-”

“I don’t want to drag out Zola from his hole, but I will if you can’t.”

A derisive snort. “Zola doesn’t know his ass from his amygdala. He won’t have any more success. What you’re asking - for obedience and personality to both be maintained - is impossible. I could achieve one, but not the oth-”

The man in the chair slams his fist into the desk. The old man flinches away. The soldier doesn’t move where he stands in the shadows.

“That’s not-!” The man in the chair takes a breath, recomposes himself. He has stood up, but he settles himself back down before continuing. “You’ll get more funding by the end of the week, little as you deserve it. If I don’t start seeing results soon, I will pull Zola out to work with you. And I don’t want you two killing each other while you’re at it.”

“Y-yes, sir.” The old man fidgets, something else on the tip of his tongue. He appears to think better of it, as he turns to leave. At the door, he pauses and says, “I know you think it’s for the best, Steve, but if he can’t understand what you’re doing here-”

“Get out.” The man’s voice is as cold as the gun the soldier wears.

The old man leaves quickly. The soldier can feel the panic. He lets his fingers run over the hilt of his gun, strapped to his hip. He won’t draw unless the man in the chair commands or is under threat. The old man is no threat. There are others sometimes, politicians and gangsters and even just local thugs or stock brokers causing too much trouble. For them, the soldier stays just out of the shadow, his mere presence a stronger deterrent than any pulled weapon.

Alone now, the man in the chair sighs and slumps forward. His thin shoulders drop as he rubs at his head with both hands.

There’s a whisper in the back of the soldier’s mind. Something urging him forward. _Comfort._ The idea is foreign to him, and he has not been ordered to move. So he stays put and watches, as he always does.

After a few moments, the man leans back and gives a short laugh. He swings around, stands up, and walks up to the soldier. He pulls him out of the shadow with a playful smile on his face. “You know what, Buck?” The man hops backward onto the desk and pulls the soldier forward so that he stands between the man’s open knees. “This is all for you. One day, you’ll understand that.”

He doesn’t know who “Bucky” is. The man calls him that sometimes, but there’s no meaning in it for the soldier.

The man leans up and kisses his mouth. “We’ll set this world straight. So that this doesn’t happen to anyone else again. I promise.” The man whispers against his skin between kisses. “No more war. No more men lost.” The man pulls the soldier’s left arm, cold, metallic, and the man presses it between his legs. “No one left to fend for themselves. No one’s mind used to become... “ He bucks into the soldier’s hand. “Fuck me, Bucky. Come on.”

This is familiar. The soldier bends the man, so much smaller than him, backwards over the desk. He grows hard, and this is something that feels familiar in a strange, niggling way that the soldier squashes down. He can’t focus on that right now. His mission is in front of him. He thrusts into the man until the man comes, and then the man finishes the soldier off with his hand.

When they do this, and when they end up in the man’s bed, just the two of them, there’s one thought that rings through the soldier’s head, so clear and so solid, it’s everything to him. The one thought the soldier knows he owns.

_Mine._ This man is his.

“If I knew you could handle it… If I knew that you could still carry out the same orders, see the good we’re doing and continue that… I’d have let Erskine restore your mind wholly.” The man speaks softly. “But you’re so good like this. Efficient. Focused. And I know you wouldn’t see. You wouldn’t understand that we have to hurt to help. So until Erskine finds that balance… Fuck, I’ll have to drag Zola from his cell, won’t I? But you don’t mind, do you?” The man chuckles. “Of course not.” He kisses the soldier’s forehead. The soldier understands the gesture as tender, but he feels nothing from it.

Nothing except that one thought: _mine._

Whatever the man talks about, with this Erskine and this other, Zola, never happens. Within the month, they both disappear, and just the man and the soldier are left.

\--

The paper has a photo and an article. Front page. _The Captain Captured._

_An unassuming, small, and sickly-looking man, it’s difficult to believe that the Captain, the mysterious man leading the last three decades of white- and blue-collar crime across the country, has been unmasked as New York resident Steve Rogers. The assassinations of Presidents Truman, Kennedy, and Nixon being among the most visible results of his reign, they are only the beginning of-_

The soldier knows every word. He has read the article countless times while waiting at the rendezvous point. He knows the names of the dead. He killed them, after all. 

It explains why the man never came. At the end of the soldier’s mission, they were meant to meet up, but he never came.

The soldier levels his rifle and aims at the first guard. In less than half a minute, he takes out all at the perimeter.

Breaking into the prison is easy. In under three minutes, he’s pulling open a door in solitary, and there, in an orange jumpsuit that manages to be too big for him is the man.

For years, the man has tried to get the soldier to call him “Steve.” If it were ever placed as an order, the soldier would do so, but the man never has ordered him.

The soldier will not call him that. “Steve” is inadequate. There’s only one description that fits the man before him; the man who smiles and says, “I knew you would come;” the man who wraps his arms around the soldier and kisses him, and the soldier kisses back here in this cell; the man the soldier will kill a thousand men for without a second thought; the man who talks of building peace by destroying those who seek to create it or profit from human suffering; who speaks words the soldier doesn’t understand but follows; the man who takes his hand and together they run, and then the soldier carries the man when he can run no longer, until they are safe.

This is the man that belongs to the soldier. This is the man the soldier belongs to.

_Mine._


End file.
